


The whirlwind of chaos

by whenshewrites



Series: A Collection of One-Shots and Tumblr Prompts [98]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Derek Hale Loves Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale Takes Care of Stiles Stilinski, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Protective Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Stiles Stilinski Loves Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:14:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27856581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites
Summary: “My dad asked you to babysit me?”Derek’s eyes turned blue as he fixed Stiles with a flat look. “For starters, Stiles, you’re not a child. And he didn’t want to ask Scott, so yes, he called me instead.”Stiles blinked slowly. “He… what?”“You’re not crazy,” Derek said, settling into Stiles’s desk chair. “And the people around you notice a lot more than you think.”
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: A Collection of One-Shots and Tumblr Prompts [98]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956889
Comments: 21
Kudos: 574





	The whirlwind of chaos

In the whirlwind of chaos, Stiles never expected to find solace in the person who hated him the most.

After a little while, anyway.

It was the little things, at first. The thing about being possessed by a blood-thirsty demon was that even once you weren’t possessed anymore, things had still happened. Things had still changed. Things that Stiles was told over and over again weren’t his fault, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t occurred.

It didn’t that mean certain things hadn’t happened. Certain people hadn’t died.

Stiles saw it in the world around him. The people around him. The way that despite his obvious best intentions, his dad’s hand never strayed far from his gun. The fact that despite the texts and the ‘hope you’re doing well’ calls, Stiles hadn’t seen his friends all summer.

It was the little things, at first. And then suddenly the days of isolation and never leaving the house ended and he found himself back in the world of the living once more. Which was funny, Stiles thought, since he hadn’t felt like he was living for some time now.

Then it was the fact that the texts stopped coming, and the calls became a memory. Stiles saw Scott once in his first class, the boy avoiding his gaze. And the next day, the young Alpha was gone. Switched out, Stiles supposed.

He thought he saw the ghost of Allison in that same seat near the front sometimes, where she’d always sat at Lydia’s side. And that was the first time Stiles had such a bad panic attack in class, he was sent home for the day.

In the whirlwind of chaos, Stiles never saw himself seeking out safety in the one person who had never seen him as more than a pesky nuisance. But then he did.

It started with a panic attack in the middle of the day and ended with a car ride that didn’t actually take him home.

Stiles stood outside of the loft with shaky hands and a quick-beating heart. He thought he could probably turn away right now and it’d be like it never happened. Derek hadn’t spent much time with the pack after the Nogitsune, after all, and Stiles supposed he couldn’t blame the man. Sometimes, if he closed his eyes, he could still remember throwing the werewolf against the wall and listening to the crack against cement with a feeling of overwhelming glee.

Nervous fingers picking at the strings of his hoodie, Stiles forced himself forward and tried not to think about how he might be walking into the wolf’s den.

Derek didn’t owe him anything, after all.

Except, then he didn’t even have to knock before the loft door was sliding open.

Stiles stood there for a moment, mouth slightly hanging open as he stared. Derek raised an eyebrow, expression unimpressed, and a long second passed before the man stepped aside.

“Stiles.”

Stiles clamped his mouth closed, awkwardly stepping into the room. A quick glance around was almost horrifying as the memories played over again through his head. The Alphas— Boyd— his dad’s handcuffs— the gun pointed at his head—

_“Stiles.”_

Stiles jerked back to reality and realized he was trembling slightly. Derek’s brows were furrowed now and if Stiles didn’t know any better, he could almost say the man looked _concerned._ But that wasn’t it. It wasn’t right.

He was missing something.

“I, uh,” Stiles blinked, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I came here.”

He turned around, starting for the door again, but then Derek cut him off. Fumbling a step back, Stiles looked at the man nervously. Derek crossed his arms, blocking his path with a definite concerned expression.

And that was strange, right?

“Sorry,” Stiles said softly. “I’m sorry, Derek.”

“What are you talking about?”

Stiles rubbed a hand over his face and turned away, moving across the room. Derek’s footsteps followed as he stepped into the kitchen, moving over to the faucet to turn the tap on and splash cold water onto his face. Stiles felt a bit like he’d just woken up from a dream, and wasn’t he supposed to have been going home? He was supposed to be going home.

Not here. Never here.

“Stiles, do I need to call your father?” Derek asked, a note in his tone that Stiles couldn’t quite place. “Your heart is beating like crazy.”

“I’m not crazy,” Stiles snapped, spinning back around. Derek straightened, a look of surprise flitting across his face, and Stiles instantly regretted his words. He shook his head, wiping the water from his face with the sleeve of his hoodie as if that would somehow clear his thoughts. “I mean… I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.”

“You don’t know me, Derek,” Stiles snapped again, with a little more heat than he’d meant. And this time, the man’s face hardened a little.

“You came to my loft smelling like anxiety and nerves, Stiles. I think that’s telling enough.”

“I— I didn’t—” Stiles trailed off and then cursed, shoving past the man. “Whatever, man, I don’t know why I came. Pretend it never happened.”

He was sick of feeling like this. Sick of feeling like maybe he might be going crazy, maybe he might be a loose cannon. Stiles still wasn’t sure why he thought it was a good idea to come here when he was obviously the last person Derek would want to see. 

Because yeah, he probably reeked of anxiety and nerves. Probably lunacy too. Stiles sometimes looked in the mirror and wondered if the Nogitsune had a different scent— and if he scrubbed hard enough, then no werewolf would ever be able to catch it again.

“Stiles—” Derek caught his arm before Stiles could make a break for the door. He froze, the touch of Derek’s hand against his skin so surprisingly _warm,_ before trying to tug away. The man didn’t let go, though. “Stiles, if you need anything, I’m here.”

“I-I don’t need anything, Derek.”

“Okay. Do I need to call your father to come get you?”

Stiles did yank away this time, shooting Derek a venomous look. “I’m not a child, Derek, I didn’t mean to come here. It was an accident.”

He could tell from the man’s face that his words weren’t really helping his case, but Stiles didn’t care anymore. There was this buzzing, this _buzzing,_ in the back of his mind that never seemed to go away. Trying to shake off his thoughts, Stiles started back toward the door. And this time, Derek didn’t stop him.

He could feel the man staring, though. Like he was seeing right through Stiles. Straight through his lies.

Stiles didn’t look back as he fled from the loft.

-

In the game of chess, there was one winner and one loser. When Stiles had designed it with the Nogitsune in his head, he’d played to be the loser. Of course, he had.

He’d thought losing would be the only way to get free.

Growing up, his dad had taught him how to win. Chess was Stiles’s game. It was one of logic and risk, and Stiles was fairly well balanced between the two of those. Well, more risk, he supposed. There was no logic when he’d gone out into the woods looking for a dead body years ago. There was no logic when he’d gotten himself into this mess, throwing not only his life but his best friend’s right under the bus.

Which might have been why Stiles got it in his head that if he could get Scott to forgive him, he could figure out how to forgive himself.

That was logical, right?

The boy agreed to meet him at the diner from their childhood. This place that Stiles used to sneak off to with Scott in tow, a craving for curly fries urging him along. He usually had to bribe Scott with a milkshake, but it had always been worth it. It was their secret and their place. It was what everything had been before werewolves; safe, warm, and innocent.

One hour into when they were supposed to meet, Stiles was starting to wonder if Scott would show up at all.

Unconsciously, he scratched at the skin between his neck and shoulder. It never actually itched anymore, but in the few days after his hospital release, he’d scratched it raw. It was just… it was like the skin was wrong. It was a warning and he was so terrified when he looked in the mirror every morning that the lines would be back and something else would be living in his head.

Something else would be taking over his life.

Suddenly, Scott’s head popped up in his line of vision, snapping Stiles out of his thoughts. He dropped his arm quickly, trying to arrange himself to be looking as normal as possible. Because there was nothing wrong anymore. There was nothing wrong with him anymore.

Scott, on the other hand, looked different as he approached the booth.

The boy’s eyes went anywhere but where Stiles sat. The last time Stiles had really seen Scott fidget was pre-werewolves when he was still that awkward, asthmatic kid. It was strange, almost. Different.

Wrong.

“Hey, man,” Stiles said— a little too rushed, he thought. Scott finally met his gaze.

“Stiles.”

The silence stretched on for too long. Stiles chewed on his lip and then forced a smile, pushing over one of the menus. “So, I was thinking I could spot you for a milkshake, just like when we used to—”

“Stiles,” Scott said, cutting him off. Stiles blinked, _sure_ he’d been talking too fast this time. Already, he was messing things up.

Except he couldn’t read his best friend’s face. Scott’s expression was closed off just like it had been at the police station after Allison’s death. Just like it had been that first morning of school.

Stiles’s stomach clenched involuntarily and his appetite suddenly vanished. “Sorry. Yeah, Scotty?”

“What do you want me here for?”

Stiles’s heart skipped a beat and he dropped his gaze. For the first time, he realized there were flecks of blood underneath his fingernails. Still wet, not dried, and for one horrible moment, it reminded him of crouching over Coach. With blood all over his hands, all underneath his nails. It had been as Coach gasped, an arrow embedded in his stomach.

“I—” Stiles shook his head, throat constricting. “I don’t—”

“What?”

Like a rubber band stretched too far, Stiles snapped back to reality. He reached up to his neck involuntarily, feeling the place where he’d scratched too deep.

“Uh,” Stiles glanced up, meeting Scott’s blank gaze, and quickly dropped it again, pulling his hands underneath the table. Because he was fine now, remember? Nothing was wrong with him anymore. “Sorry, man, I’m fine. We just haven’t talked since… you know.”

He trailed off, finally glancing up again. And Scott looked at him for a long moment before scoffing slightly and pushing himself up. Stiles nearly jumped up too, but he felt rooted to the spot.

The young Alpha’s face was still closed off when he shrugged, hands shoved into his pockets. “I don’t have anything to say to you, Stiles.”

“No, no, I get it. But that’s why I thought—”

“No, Stiles,” Scott said, cutting him off again. There was a spark in his eyes, now. A spark of red and for the first time ever, Stiles realized that was more threatening than it had ever been before. “It killed them, Stiles. It killed all of them, I know that.”

The lump in Stiles’s throat grew bigger. He nodded and Scott’s eyes sparked again.

“But you killed Allison.”

And just like that, Stiles felt like he’d been punched. “I didn’t—”

“You brought us there,” Scott said, his eyes definitely red now. “To that spot. And that’s where she died.”

Stiles’s stomach plunged. He looked down at his hands, which were shaking once more, and nodded silently. Because yeah, if he hadn’t imagined that night over and over again. All the different ways it could have gone, all the different things that could have changed.

“Yeah,” Stiles whispered, looking up. “Yeah, I know, but—”

Except Scott was gone.

-

Being a human amidst wolves was never something that had bothered Stiles before. In fact, he almost reveled in it. He was human, yeah. He was fragile. But he was running with wolves.

Then, for what seemed like forever, he wasn’t human anymore.

Losing his mind and then regaining it made Stiles wonder what he was at this point. Maybe he was fully human again, maybe he wasn’t. If he looked into the mirror, he recognized himself. He recognized his own face, his own eyes.

But when he looked away, that ringing returning to his ears, he didn’t recognize his own thoughts.

“You’re not crazy, you know.”

Stiles startled so hard, he nearly tumbled out of bed. Derek stood near his open window, hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket as he shifted awkwardly. And for a moment, Stiles thought he was dreaming. Or hallucinating. He sat straight up and just stared, until Derek ducked his head and stepped further into the room.

“Your dad won’t be back until morning. He asked me to check in on you.”

“My _dad_ asked _you_ to babysit?”

Derek’s eyes turned a little blue as he fixed Stiles with a flat look. “For starters, Stiles, you’re not a child. Remember? And he didn’t want to ask Scott so yes, he called me instead.”

Stiles blinked slowly. “He… what?”

“You’re not crazy,” Derek said, settling into Stiles’s desk chair. “And the people around you notice a lot more than you think.”

So, if Stiles wasn’t dreaming, then Derek was really in his room. Derek Hale, who Stiles felt like he hadn’t seen in weeks. Time had kind of blurred together as he moved from day to day, but he was pretty sure it had been a while since he’d stormed out of the man’s loft.

“It’s been three weeks,” Derek said. And Stiles flushed as he realized he’d said all of that out loud.

“Thanks, Creeperwolf. Well, clearly, I’m doing fine, so you can leave now.”

Derek raised an unimpressed brow, looking like he was making himself more comfortable rather than going anywhere. And Stiles realized suddenly— a bit self consciously— how dirty his room was and how long it had been since he’d showered. Shifting a little, he tried to pull his blankets further around himself, but only succeeded in dumping the bag on chips that had been on the edge of his bed onto the floor.

If possible, Derek’s raise eyebrowed-look looked even more amused.

“Shut up,” Stiles said, yanking his comforter around his shoulders. “And get out of my house.”

“I told your father I’d keep an eye on you.”

“Still not a child.”

Derek’s expression did something different. He settled back, arms folded over his chest, and shrugged. “I’m not here to ‘babysit’, Stiles. I’m here because you haven’t been to the loft in three weeks and your father says you never leave the house anymore.”

“Okay, how close have you and my dad gotten?”

“Not the point.”

Stiles thought it was point enough, thank you very much. The thought of Derek and his dad having a… friendship? Now that was enough to weird him out for the rest of the year. “I’m not lonely, Derek.”

The man didn’t say anything. Stiles scoffed.

“And this is really creepy. Why don’t you go be all buddy-buddy with someone else? I’m sure Isaac is still looking for that ‘you’re my dad!’ type of relationship.”

Derek’s face tightened a little at the mention of Isaac and in a moment, Stiles completely regretted his words. Because to be honest, he had no idea what had happened at the loft after… well, after everything bad had become everything so much worse. He knew Cora had gone off the map, but that was about the extent of his knowledge.

Sometimes, Stiles was surprised the blue-eyed beta sitting across from him hadn’t vanished either.

“You think I’d leave?”

Looking up, startled, Stiles realized he’d been muttering things again. His stomach twisted and there was a small buzzing in his ears as he dropped his gaze, hating everything about the events that were completely unfolding.

“Stiles,” Derek said. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“I wish you’d leave my house.”

When Stiles glanced up, Derek’s face was tight. For a moment, Stiles was pretty sure he’d succeeded in making the man frustrated enough to just _go._ But instead, Derek uncrossed his arms and picked up a book, the blue fire leaving his eyes.

Stiles stared. Then he scowled, shoving himself up.

“Okay, asshole, what is the point of this?”

Derek raised an eyebrow. And _dammit,_ Stiles hated him for those looks.

“I’m not crazy,” he said. “I’m not lonely. And this is— this is— I don’t need you here, Derek!”

What kind of blows did he have to strike to scare Derek off? For some reason, Stiles felt like nothing was working. But he didn’t understand, _he didn’t understand_ why Derek was still here. Why Derek of all people wanted to be around him. Why Derek of all people hadn’t stopped coming, stopped caring, yet.

The man looked at him for a long moment, before closing his book and setting it on the desk. Stiles’s heart thudded against his chest as he stood, expression quiet and unreadable.

Stiles glared up at him, half tempted to step back and create more space between them. One more inch, two. Or maybe one step closer. Two. Instead, he just stood there, blanket wrapped tightly around him as Derek nodded.

“I could leave.”

“Good.”

Derek’s eye twitched and he was the one to step closer. Stiles tightened his grip on his blanket, a knot forming in his throat.

“Or,” Derek said. “You could let me stay. And you could stop hating yourself for once.”

“I—” Stiles blinked, then drew back, anger washing over him white and hot. “What the hell, dude? Fuck you!”

Derek didn’t even flinch. And right now, Stiles _hated_ how undeterred by everything he seemed to be. Because this was his house, okay? This was his room, his safe place. Everything happening outside of his door, he could handle. The radio silence, the occasional sympathetic looks. All of that, he could handle.

Not Derek here. Not now.

“I don’t know what the hell you want from me,” Stiles said, words trembling. “But I’m fine.”

The man nodded again, reaching out. Stiles surprised himself by staying rooted to the spot, even as Derek’s fingers brushed underneath the blanket, over that spot between Stiles’s neck and shoulder. He shivered a little, unconsciously, and Derek’s eyes sparked for a moment.

But there was nothing threatening about them. 

“Does it hurt?”

Stiles swallowed hard, staring at the man. Derek sighed softly.

“We can’t go back in time, you know,” he said. “You don’t have to try and reverse what it did. None of it was your fault.”

Stiles’s eyes stung at that. For some reason, that all brought back the day in the diner. The difference between what _it,_ what _Void_ did. And what _Stiles_ had done himself.

“Stiles…”

“I got her killed,” Stiles whispered. “Derek, I got so many people killed.”

The man’s expression did a number of things. For a moment, it tightened, softened, and then before Stiles could say another word, his face was turned into Derek’s chest and the sheer warmth of the embrace was so surprising, Stiles didn’t even have a chance to freak out about the fact that Derek Hale was _hugging him._

He’d been cold for so long. In the beginning, the doctors had said it was because he was malnourished and had lost too much weight. But then time had passed and Stiles stayed ice cold. He was always so cold.

“God, Stiles,” Derek said. “You’ve never done anything wrong.”

Closing his eyes, Stiles thought he could easily dispute that. He’d done so many things wrong in the past, starting with that stupid night in those stupid woods, he could probably laugh at Derek’s words. But nothing except a broken sob escaped his lips and Derek’s hold tightened, just a little bit.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Derek said, “and there’s nothing wrong with you.”

_Hadn’t he?_

In the whirlwind of chaos, Stiles never expected to find solace in the person who hated him the most. Or at least… that’s what he’d thought, at first. Because Derek Hale and Stiles Stilinksi? That wasn’t supposed to be a thing. That was never supposed to match.

It didn’t make sense.

But then again, Stiles supposed a lot of the things that had happened recently didn’t make sense. And the thing about being possessed was that when he wasn’t anymore, the memories were still there. The tragedies that had occurred were still real. The stuff that _didn’t make sense_ haunted him with every step.

And it hurt so much.

“I’m here,” Derek said quietly. “For as long as you need me to be.”

In the silence around them, a strange lack of buzzing in his ears, Stiles thought for the first time that something he heard, thought, felt, and _wanted_ might actually be true. Might actually be real. Except, nothing about this made sense. 

Not about this seemed real.

“Are you?” he said, words shaking. And something about the weight on his shoulders changed when Derek rested his chin on the top of Stiles’s head, a sigh rumbling through his chest.

“Always, Stiles.”

Despite it all, there was no itching of his skin. No buzzing in his ears, no feeling of losing his mind. And Stiles realized that maybe, _maybe,_ Derek was the realest thing in his life right now. Maybe he always had been.

Because in the whirlwind of chaos, Stiles never saw himself seeking out safety in the one person who had never seen him as more than a pesky nuisance. Not Derek, not Derek Hale.

But then he did.

And honestly? Stiles was starting to think maybe it wasn’t so crazy after all.

**Author's Note:**

> It's angst time, apparently, and oh my gosh! One more one-shot till 100! I dunno why that makes me happy, but that really does. So yay! 
> 
> The year's almost over, y'all <3 We've almost made it


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